


Phone calls and memories (2/2)

by In_Arcadia_IO



Series: Phone calls and memories [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: LOTR RPF - Freeform, LoTR RPS - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Arcadia_IO/pseuds/In_Arcadia_IO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Silly man. Stupid bastard. Who did he think he was to make such statements?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phone calls and memories (2/2)

Impeach – Remove – Jail.

Orlando shook his head and tore the page out of the magazine.

Silly man. Stupid bastard. Who did he think he was to make such statements? Saint Viggo going on a political crusade again? Thinking he could actually change the world. How naïve was that man? Did he never learn?

And if one told him so Viggo would just shrug his shoulders and respond with something along the lines of: “Whatever you say. But it’s what I feel I must do.”

Yeah, and he gave a damn whether people would call him a hopeless idealist, a typical Hollywood liberal or a fucking … queer.

Orlando crumpled the article into a tiny paper ball and threw it at the bin next to the door. He missed. With a soft thud the paper landed next to Sidi’s favourite green rubber duck.

“Fuck.”

At that moment his cell on the table started buzzing. Checking the number on the display, he picked up the call, “Hi, darling. How are you?”

“Hi, um, I was wondering whether I’d see you tonight …”

“Sure, I’ll pick you up around 8 like I said and then we can have dinner. They got me a direct flight to London for tomorrow afternoon, so we’ll have plenty of time …”

“Only wanted to make sure …”

Her voice sounded so frail. “Katie, what is it?”

“Oh nothing, I just …”

Orlando got up and started pacing the room. He looked at the magazines on the floor.

”Honey, don’t read the shit they write about you.”

“I know, I know. And I should know better. Curiosity killed the cat, huh?”

“They’ll always find something to babble about. These silly mags love to trash people.”

“Guess, I’m being silly, too.”

“No, you aren’t. They don’t know anything about you. Hey, you looked beautiful that night.”

From the corner of his eyes Orlando saw how Sidi started to tip over the waste bin. “No, Sidi! Stop it!” He ran to the kitchen. “Sidi’s about to wreak havoc in here.”

As soon as the dog saw him coming, he scurried off, barking loudly. The bin capsized, immediately spilling its contents on the floor. Banana peels, tea bags, slimy mango relics, empty milk bottles, egg shells. Orlando made a face. “Arghgh, no … sorry love, can we talk about it tonight?”

“Sure, don’t worry about me. It’s ok.”

Yeah, it was ok. Like she always said it was ok.

What had become of the Kate he had once met? Where was the dazzling girl from 2 years ago, easy-going and at all times in the mood to party? Her smile had grown thin. And despite all he told her, she constantly feared to be not good enough.

Not. Good. Enough. Hell, he could relate to that. Some of the latest E-Town reviews came to his mind and instantly he felt that cold, hard knot lumping in his stomach. Not good enough. Not smart enough. Not mature enough.

Not that Viggo had ever treated him as if was just a boy. Quite the contrary, and more than often he had cursed Viggo for it. Why had he always insisted on Orlando making his own decisions? Why hadn’t he just taken Orlando’s hand and said something like, “I don’t let you go.”

It would have made things so much easier for him. He could have blamed Viggo, everything would have been Viggo’s fault, not his own. And he wouldn’t have to play that fucking night in his head over and over again.

They had lain side by side, sticky, sweaty, and completely spent. Surfacing from that blissful, post-coital nirvana state, Orlando turned around and kissed the crook of Viggo’s neck. Viggo’s hair clung to his neck and his skin was damp. Warm. And so soft.

Orlando sank heavily against that solid, well-familiar body, his tongue darting out to lap up the saltiness, while his hands travelled down Viggo’s body. But Viggo didn’t respond. He lay very still, only his chest was heaving slightly. Something felt wrong. Orlando stopped, realizing that Viggo was staring at him.

“What? What is it?”

Viggo took a deep breath. “We can’t go on like this ….”

Orlando chuckled and began to nuzzle Viggo’s neck. “Don’t tell me I’ve worn you out, old man …”

“Orlando …”

The serious tone in Viggo’s voice made him pull back and look at Viggo. Gently, Viggo put a hand on Orlando’s face. “You have to make up your mind one of these days.”

“But why? Why is it so important all of a sudden?”

”You know very well why.” Viggo let his hands sink and propped himself up on his elbows. “It’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation. I’m tired of being your best kept secret, of having to sneak in and out through back doors and side exits so that people don’t see us together.”

Orlando sat up, pulling up his knees. “I’m sick of that, too.”

Viggo closed his arms around him and leaned his head against Orlando’s shoulder. “I know what I’m asking of you. You’re worried what will happen when you come out; you’re afraid that your career will come to a standstill.” Viggo snorted under his breath. “Yeah, I can see the headlines already, Orlando Bloom – gay! I’m sure it will cause a scandal. But I doubt that it will stop people wanting to see you on the big screen.”

“They will forget about me as soon as the next young hot and 100 % heterosexual actor comes up.”

“When will you realize that you can be so much more than just a young hot actor?” Viggo placed a butterfly kiss on his neck. “People will forgive you everything.” And in a much quieter voice he added. “Just like me.”

Orlando let his hands drop in his lap. That last remark was said as a plain statement, not as an accusation.

Viggo cleared his throat. “Is it so hard to understand that I don’t want us to hide anymore? I’m an actor, yes, but when it comes to my private life I’m tired of playing your friend, your mentor, your I-don’t-know-what. I can be everything, everything but your lover. I’m sick of all that theater, don’t you understand that?”

“But I do understand you. I do.”

“I don’t want to take your career away from you, Orlando. I know how important that is for you. And still … I’m sure I’ll hate you for your decision, but I won’t blame you.”

Orlando turned around. The room was dark apart from the streetlights outside. Viggo’s shoulder was bathed in blue light, his face was hidden in the shadows.

“You want me to make a choice. Like, right now?”

“Now is as good as any time.”

“Damn, Viggo. Why?”

Viggo let his arms sink and sat back against the head board. Twirling lights illuminated the room for a short while as an ambulance passed by.

“We’re turning in circles, don't you see? There's no way to go on like that."

Orlando inhaled shakily. “And if I don’t feel ready to make that decision now?”

“Then you’ll probably never be ready.”

The truth of these words hit him like a fist in the stomach.

“You want me to make a choice. What about you? How do you feel about it?

Viggo swallowed. “I feel like shit already. The idea of not having you around anymore is … killing me.”

“What?” Orlando’s heart sank. It was like in a bad dream. As if someone had drawn aside a big grey curtain and suddenly, inexplicably he found himself standing on the edge of a dangerous precipice, a bottomless abyss looming directly in front of him.

“You don’t want to see me anymore? Not even as a friend?”

Viggo didn’t answer.

“So you made your decision already?” Orlando hugged his knees tightly.

No, this is not happening. This is not happening.

“It is your choice," Viggo said very quietly. "Your choice, alone.”

Orlando felt his throat constricting, he shook his head angrily. “You want to force me to make up my mind. That’s not fair!”

“Right. While you’re all for fair play, aren’t you? Do you have an idea how I feel about all this? Do you think it leaves me cold knowing I will never wake up next to you again?”

“Then why?” Frantically, he grabbed Viggo by the shoulders, dragging him into the light. He wanted to see Viggo’s eyes. “Tell me this is not happening … “

“Orlando, it is happening. Right under our eyes. I’ve seen this coming for quite a while.”

“No, Viggo, no.” He straddled Viggo, covering his face with kisses, desperate, helpless kisses that tasted salty. And Viggo held him tight and kissed him back just as desperately.

That night they had made love for the last time.

Orlando still remembered every second. How Viggo had held him when he had lowered himself onto Viggo, fingers spread wide over Orlando’s hipbones, balancing him, allowing him to feel every inch that opened him up. They had sat like that for quite some time, motionless and silent. Orlando’s hands were entwined in Viggo’s hair and then Viggo’s mouth was upon him, on his collarbones, on his nipples, on the curve of his shoulders. And all Orlando could feel was Viggo inside him. Only this.

Only. This.

When Viggo began to move again it was the end, the end of everything. But Orlando didn’t want it to end. He rode the last waves of Viggo’s orgasm until Viggo’s fingers closed around him. Eyes shut tightly, Orlando shook his head furiously, “No. No. No,” and then he came over Viggo’s hand, against Viggo’s chest, his thumbs pressed against Viggo’s cheeks and he could feel that Viggo was crying, too.

He had fallen asleep after that as if sleep could erase everything. A deep black sea of sleep from which he never wanted to surface again.

When Orlando had woken up the next morning, Viggo had been gone. He had taken all his books, his clothes, his silly plastic bags with this and that and everything. It hadn't been much as Viggo always travelled lightly.

He hadn't even left a note.

A high-pitched whine let Orlando snap out of his memories, Sidi stood in front of him, a paw placed on Orlando’s knee, wagging his tail.

“You wanna go out, old rascal? And leave me in this mess?” He looked over to the rubbish explosion on the floor. “At least say that you’re sorry.” Sidi whined once more before starting to lick Orlando’s face. Laughing, Orlando petted the dog. “Ok, off you go.” He opened the glass door that led onto the terrace and in a second the dog was gone.

When he returned to the living room, Orlando picked up the crumpled page. Crouching on the floor, he carefully unfolded the article and smoothed the paper on his thigh.

“Damn, Viggo. Why do you always have to live up to your beliefs?”

Of course, they had seen each other again after that night. There had been premieres and press conferences and photocalls. And they had kissed and hugged and fooled almost everyone about what wonderful friends they always had been and still were. And out of old habit their hands had tried to travel familiar territory again, but they hadn’t been able to fool themselves.

All of a sudden, the magic had been gone.

Then why does it still hurt so much to see some stupid paparazzi shot of you? Why can’t I forget all those things? The first time you kissed me, the way you hold your ridiculous mate cups, straw always stuck between your middle fingers, the stupid songs you used to sing in the shower. Hell, as talented as you are with everything else, I’ll never understand why people buy your music, you can’t even sing.

Suddenly, he noticed the date of the newspaper. October 17.

Fuck.

How could that have happened? This was the first year that he had almost forgotten about Viggo’s birthday. Shaking his head, he groaned frustrated.

As if it made any difference if he hadn’t remembered in time. As if he’d call Viggo in three days. Sure, he could contact Viggo’s agent to find out whether the old number was still correct. Or he could write Viggo a letter. No, not a letter. The mere idea of an empty white page filled him with horror. There were simply too many things he needed to say Viggo, or nothing at all. So what should he write?

Why does my heart still start beating madly when I imagine you would suddenly come back to me, that you were sitting here in this kitchen, just next to me, sipping your inevitable maté, ranting about politics or philosophing about soccer?

I can’t remember which dress Kate wore yesterday, but I can still remember the patterns of your horrid plaid shirts. I remember how they felt under my fingers and how they smelled. I loved those shirts.

And I loved it when you sang in the shower. Your crooked tunes couldn’t stop me from joining you. I’d rather order you down on your knees to give you better things to do with your mouth. And then I’d lean back against the cold tiles and let the water stream down on me until I couldn’t hold back any more.

You never pulled back.

You swallowed everything and when you rose again, water creature with wet, twisted hair your smile was nothing but predatory. Sometimes we wouldn’t even make it to the bedroom and I’d find myself holding onto a wash basin or kneeling on all fours, not even noticing how hard the floor was, the blacks and whites of the marble tiles gradually vanishing before my eyes as you fucked me hard.

You were utterly shameless. “You want me to lick your sweet, bony little ass?” you’d say and I could only nod and whimper in response as you had already started doing exactly that. I couldn’t deny you anything and I knew it was just the same with you.

You didn’t make it easy for me though, you were my harshest critic. You’d never lie to me just to flatter me. You’d argue with me for hours on a topic only to conclude that “it didn’t matter” what you thought about it. “You have to make your own choices,” you’d say. “Your own mistakes. Sometimes we only learn through trial and error.”

I wonder whether you applied that to our own relationship as well. I’ll never know. I chose the easy way out.

Did I even realize what I gave away when I let you go? Did I have to be together with Kate to come to understand that what we had was … unique? It was something I had never expected. I didn’t see that a story like ours happens only once in a lifetime. I shouldn’t have taken your love for granted.

I know now why I chose Kate. I was tired of your intensity. You were never indifferent. You never said that it was ok, when it wasn’t. You always shared what was on your mind and encouraged me to do the same. Not such a bad habit if I think back on it.

There were never harsh words between us, but, yes, we argued a lot. Sometimes, I thought you just loved arguing because otherwise life would be simply too easy, and because you, yes you, you silly git, don’t think I didn’t know that, liked to make up with me afterwards.

But we could be silent together as well and completely at peace. I remember long, lazy Sunday afternoons when I’d just lie on the couch, my head in your lap, dozing away the time while you were reading and lazily stroking my hair. I remember quiet dinners when you were cooking fish for Henry and me, and we were talking and smoking and drinking under a yellow kitchen light. And I thought it would be like that forever.

Orlando squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled noisily.

All of a sudden he knew with instant, breath-taking and alarming clarity what to write on that birthday card.

Just 4 words.

I want you back.

And call it sharing the same wavelength, call it magic or just coincidence, but in that instant the phone started buzzing again. Orlando threw himself on the couch.

Expecting it to be Kate once more, he didn’t even bother to check the number on the display. This way the shock was even bigger.

“Hi there,” said a familiar voice. “How are you? Have you ever been to Paris?”

The End.


End file.
